


hearts move slow, get left behind

by theshipstorulethemallwrites



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Feelings Realization, Future Fic, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, the inherent tragedy that is Taylor Hall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:48:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22233859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshipstorulethemallwrites/pseuds/theshipstorulethemallwrites
Summary: Sometimes it takes coming home to discover exactly what has been lost
Relationships: past Taylor Hall/Nico Hischier, referenced Nico Hischier/Jack Hughes, referenced Taylor Hall/Nico Hischier/Jack Hughes
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	hearts move slow, get left behind

**Author's Note:**

> shout out to [Storm Before The Calm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22221256) by neerdowellwolf for inspiring this angst 
> 
> also so much credit goes to Hannah for helping me with this in chat fics and just generally loving these three with me

Taylor’s surprised when he gets the call from his GM, that he’ll be representing the team at the All Star Weekend in New Jersey. He’s been good, not Hart Trophy winner good, but good absolutely. He just knows who else he’s playing with and he doesn’t quite get why he’s going. Being one of the oldest guys there isn’t great but only a few people know that this is going to be his last year and clearly someone lobbied the league office. 

He knew when he took the hit in the first week of the season that this was going to be it. He’s been quietly talking with the Devils management about taking a role with the Player Development department down the line. It didn’t matter that Jersey sent him packing because they traded away for his benefit and he did get a cup a few years after the trade. Jersey still felt home. Hell, he still owns his house there. 

But even though for years now he’s played against Jack and Nico, against the guys he should have mentored, against the guys that still feel like  _ his _ , walking into the Prudential Center the thursday of the game, something feels wrong. Something aches.

Because there’s Nico, holding court with a shiny C etched on his jersey, Jack watching in the wings with an A stitched on his chest. 

It hits him then. They grew up, they grew into themselves and Taylor’s hearts feels like led in his chest. 

And he’s played against them, listened to their interviews, but it’s been years since they’ve really talked. Since their text thread has been active. Taylor has to spend over a minute scrolling through his phone to find it, a tweet link after he’d won with a bunch of exclamation marks from Nico and congratulations that sends confetti filling up his screen from Jack. He wonders if he should text, if he has that right. It’s not like he tried to keep in touch, despite the false promises that he said after sitting out that Arizona game, the last time Nico had stayed close, like a shadow, like he was soaking up every moment.

Frowning, he shuts his phone, deciding against it, listening to his head. He’s never been good at listening to his heart. Not in Edmonton, not in Jersey, not when he was young and dumb and full of faith and still not when his bones ache and his list of jerseys with his name on them outstrips everything else he’s done. 

He still stays in the shadows, watching as Jack steps up. He wants to hear Jack, the kid he still thinks of as a rookie, so he leans forward and that’s when Jack looking past the reporters notices him.

Taylor doesn’t want to imagine things, hope he isn’t, because his heart is already bruised, already ripped to pieces but Jack’s expression, the utter longing that crosses it for a moment, the way his lips immediately form Taylor’s name like it’s instinct, like it’s a prayer, Taylor wants to reach into his chest and hand them both the last pieces of his heart that are still whole. He’s pretty sure they’ve always been theirs after all.

The reporters turn towards him, Nico spins around from where he’s been focused on Jack, an adoring expression on his face that Taylor remembers well, remembers when it used to be the way Nico looked at  _ him _ . Two parts love, one part hope and a dash of desire. Having Nico look at him like that, back when he took the team on his back, back when they made the playoffs, it had made everything worth it. 

Taylor doesn’t dare to pretend to know all of Jack’s facial expressions but he got to know how Jack looks angry and trying to hide it, how Jack looks hopeful, how Jack looks happy, how Jack looks triumphant. It’s a different sort of knowledge than what he had with Nico. With Nico he knew exactly how happy he was by the crinkle of his eyes, he knew when Nico was trying to hide his tears, he knew what Nico was feeling by the set of his shoulders, by the clench of his jaw. 

Nico’s still wearing the same facial expression that he was when he was looking at Jack. 

_ Fuck.  _

This can’t be happening. 

He’s a lucky charm for tragedies, he’s a horseshoe for lost dream, he’s the first overall whisperer and those don’t tend to be happy stories. Look at him. 

He won’t infect them anymore than he already has, won’t ruin what they clearly have with each other. He can read body language and there’s no room for him to slip in. Not like there could have been, had he let his heart rule his ambition for once in his stupid life. 

Amanda, still working in hockey, now for the NHL, and god he’s so proud of her, turns to him. 

He shakes his head, holds up his hands and laughs a little, not able to contain his pride, “you’ll get me tomorrow, they’re the superstars anyway.” 

Jack and Nico are still looking at him and Taylor has to be the one to turn away. Taylor has to go, they’re already burning so bright it hurts his tired eyes. 

But he doesn’t turn away fast enough, can see home in them, can see hope in their eyes and that’s something he promised he wouldn’t take away again. He knows what they look like heartbroken, after all, he’s the one who did the breaking. He’s just grateful it seems like they mended each other’s.

Even if no one ever mended his. 

**Author's Note:**

> title from Nostalgic by Arizona because I love pain
> 
> find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/hockeytoruleall)
> 
> if people want I'll write the happier second part


End file.
